


No One Can Hear Us Scream in the Void

by faedemon



Category: Among Us (Video Game), Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Alternate Universe - Among Us (Video Game) Setting, Alternate Universe - Space, Astronauts, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, Murder Mystery, also: the summary has a day 1 log but the actual fic starts on day 6! jysk, probably less than canon-typical honestly, we're hanging fast and loose with the science in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26616793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faedemon/pseuds/faedemon
Summary: Day 1 Crewman's LogBegin transcript?Launch was about six hours ago. It's strange to think we're in space—out in that vast, eternal void—and our only purpose is to collect space dust and ambient radio data for a few months. Maybe that's a good thing, though; I'm not interested in a dangerous, high-stakes space mission. This kind of thing almost guarantees no one is in danger of dying! Ha-ha.That's all I really have to say for now, but I'll keep this updated. This was Freeman, signing off for now. 2100 hours.
Relationships: Benrey & Gordon Freeman, Bubby & Tommy Coolatta & Dr. Coomer & Gordon Freeman, Tommy Coolatta & Gordon Freeman
Comments: 35
Kudos: 56





	1. Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin: an HLVRAI Among Us AU! Complete with impostors, murder, and (eventually) at least one person being punted out of the airlock, hehe.
> 
> Also, disclaimer: I might change the title.

_Day 6 Crewman’s Log  
Begin transcript?_

Been a bit since we launched. Everyone’s settled into a routine now. Don’t see the boss often, but they’re usually in Security, and I’m stationed bow most of the time, so there’s not much chance to.

Wish we took meals all together as a crew, but not enough systems are automated for that to be sustainable. At least I usually get to eat with Tommy. I like him—we only met him after we launched, but Bubby, Dr. Coomer, and I get on with him like a house on fire. Feels like he’s been friends with us for ages.

Things might be a little less business-as-usual for the next few days. Last night some of the systems went haywire—not sure why yet—and we’ve all gotta do some repairs, along with the tasks we usually do. Everyone usually stationed on the stern worked through the AM, so us on bow get to wander around the whole ship doing stuff today. It’ll be a little weird; I don’t think I’ve looked in the Reactor room since we first kicked off.

Signing off for now. Freeman, 0600 hours.

* * *

Gordon wouldn’t exactly call it bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but he’s sure awake now. He could’ve gotten more sleep, but he’d been absorbed in fiddling with the comm frequencies on his last shift and didn’t take his sleep cycle until Forzen walked all the way from the lower engine to tell him to stop fucking with the radios. 

He stretches, straining his loose muscles as best he can in low-gravity. The only bad part about the ship is that it doesn’t have the power to support artificial grav; every other day or so, everyone has to take a couple hours in the exercise room to stay healthy. Or—well, he says the only bad part, but honestly wearing the HEV suits is probably worse than a little exercise when it comes to coping with low-grav.

They’re meant to compensate for the lack of gravity, he thinks. All he knows for sure is that they’re heavy enough in low-grav to keep them anchored to the floor, and the gloves make doing delicate stuff a bitch—and that they’re ugly as hell. Everyone’s color-coded so they’re easily identifiable while wearing the helmets—even though nobody does—and Gordon got what was possibly the worst color of the lot, besides maybe Dr. Coomer’s.

Nothing to be had for it, though. Gordon hauls himself out of his sleeping bag and reluctantly zips himself into his bright orange HEV suit, ready—for better or for worse—to start his shift.

Tommy in yellow and Bubby in light blue are already awake when he makes his way into the cafeteria. Bubby is sipping at a beverage packet of what is ostensibly coffee, but is almost certainly something else, and Tommy is clearly holding himself back from chattering at Bubby until he’s sufficiently awake. They both acknowledge Gordon as he comes in, Bubby with a nod of the head and Tommy with a grin.

Before he heads over to them, he detours to the pantries at the side to grab his day six morning portion and a coffee packet and to rehydrate them both.

“Morning, guys,” Gordon says as he approaches, food and drink in tow. “Breakfast good at all today?”

“If by good, you mean the same fucking space food as always, then yes,” Bubby grumbles back.

“It’s oatmeal!” Tommy cuts in. “I liked it!”

“Oatmeal again?” Gordon sighs while Tommy grins sheepishly.

Despite the repetitive nature of the job—and the food—Gordon does like it, for the most part. The novelty of being in space never wears off, and the moments he gets during his down time to take off the suit and just _float_ are some of the most peaceful he’s felt in his entire life. It doesn’t matter that their mission isn’t anything grand like making contact on a never-before-visited planet. Even collecting space dust for analysis has its importance, and that’s good enough for Gordon.

“Did Vox hand out orders yet?” he asks.

Bubby finishes sucking on his might-be-coffee. “No; they were probably waiting on you and Harold. Ah, speak of the bitch.” Bubby looks past Gordon toward the personal quarters, and when Gordon turns around, sure enough, Dr. Coomer, in his glaring lime green suit, is emerging from the hall. 

A chorus of _good morning_ s passes between all of them, and they chatter amongst themselves as Dr. Coomer helps himself to breakfast—though Tommy is doing most of the chattering, now that Bubby is awake enough to tolerate it. Eventually they’re all done, and just waiting for orders.

It’s only a few minutes later that the door toward the upper engine opens, and from it, Forzen and Darnold trudge out in dark green and brown respectively, with Benrey in dark blue trailing along behind them. Benrey is the only one of them who’s consistently worn his helmet; at first it was a little weird, but at this point everyone seems to have accepted it as a quirk of his, along with his stilted manner of speaking.

Gordon hadn’t met any of the three of them before launch, but Dr. Coomer and Bubby both knew Darnold and seem to like him well enough. Gordon doesn’t have anything against any of the three of them; he just hasn’t worked with any of them long enough to have a real opinion.

“Morning, folks,” Darnold greets, voice tired.

“Evening for us, really. I’m passing out,” Forzen grunts, beelining for the hallway to the dorms. He disappears before anyone can say anything to him, though that might be for the best—he seemed disgruntled.

“I suppose there’s not much meaning to the notion of night and day in space,” Dr. Coomer says amicably. “How was the AM shift? Anything worse than expected?”

“No, not really,” Darnold replies. “Just that there’s a _lot_ to do. I can’t wait to go back to the normal shift cycle—being on for twelve hours and for the _whole ship_ blows. Your side of the ship is so much more complicated to manage, too.”

“Yeah, dude. Navigation’s shit, I don’t know how to work all those buttons.” Benrey pipes up, and Gordon jolts slightly. It’s still a bit weird listening to him talk through his suit’s shitty microphone.

“It’s not that hard! The controls are meant to be intuitive.” Tommy was assigned to Navigation when they first launched, and pretty much no one else has had to touch it until now. Of course _he’d_ think it was easy.

Gordon’s about to chime in when there’s the crackle of the loudspeaker, and everyone pauses automatically, waiting.

TASK DISSEMINATION START

“Ah, that’s your cue. I’m going to lay down for as long as I can. See you,” Darnold says quickly, before Vox starts talking again.

“Oh. Me too, I guess,” Benrey mumbles, and follows Darnold as he begins to head back toward the dorms.

GORDON FREEMAN  
FIX WIRING IN ELECTRICAL, STORAGE, SECURITY  
DOWNLOAD RADIO DATA IN COMMS, UPLOAD TO ADMIN  
ALIGN ENGINE OUTPUTS

As the speakers cut, Gordon furrows his brow. He’s never dealt with the engines before—if he’s going to align them properly, he might have to go talk to Forzen or Benrey. Everything else shouldn’t be too hard, though; they were all trained in basic electrical maintenance in preparation for the mission, and data transfers are something everyone does almost every day.

“That’s me, then,” he says, standing up and stretching. Tommy and Dr. Coomer both wave as he heads off toward Electrical. Bubby nods to him. As he starts off, he hears the speaker crackle again as Vox starts delegating tasks for Tommy.

The ship isn’t very big, but Gordon hasn’t been on it long enough for the halls to stop feeling like they echo. They don’t, really; the steps he makes aren’t heavy enough to make noise that would echo, but the wide metal hallways feel like they yawn regardless, and with only four of them on duty, it’s unlikely he’ll pass anyone by. The ship is so large compared to his body, and the heavy suit he wears makes him feel all the smaller.

Electrical is a mess—as always, according to Forzen, who bitches about it constantly, as if he isn’t almost the only one who works in there and can definitely take an hour or two to neaten it up—and Gordon has to step carefully as he makes his way to the back. Cables litter the floor and the master lights panel is hanging open; whoever last flipped the breakers didn’t bother to close it. In the back, where the wiring panels are, one is helpfully labeled with Gordon’s name on an orange sticky note.

There’s some general instructions on it, which he appreciates, but, taking a look at what got fucked up in the wiring, he knows pretty much what to do. The only strange part of it is that it’s not like any of the wires were loosely connected, or corroded, or anything like that—rather, the criss-cross of mismatched wires looks deliberate.

Forzen knows what he’s doing, so I wonder who screwed up this bad and was too embarrassed to tell, Gordon thinks amusedly. Maybe Benrey. He seems like the type.

It only takes him about an hour and a half to un-fuck the wires in Electrical, and he moves through that, the wires in Storage, and the wires in Security without much trouble. It’s time-consuming, but not difficult, just delicate and with a lot of moving pieces.

When he hits Security, he gets to catch a glimpse of Vox at work. Nobody ever really talks to them directly, except for, bizarrely, Benrey, who brings Vox their meals. Bubby’s been trying to figure out since launch why Vox prefers Benrey over anyone else, but it’s been a fruitless endeavor. All conversation with him just goes in circles, and not even Bubby is brave enough to try engaging in small talk with Vox.

Gordon doesn’t really know what he expected, but a glance into the room only shows Vox, in their bright red HEV suit, keeping an eye on the cameras and otherwise doing paperwork at the desk. The only interesting thing is that Vox has their helmet on, though maybe that’s to be expected—they’re meant to set an example for the rest of the crew, even if no one else heeds the unspoken suggestion.

Gordon would normally try to leave data transfers for last, so that he can just relax while things process—god knows they have the slowest download speed he’s ever fucking encountered—but he _really_ doesn’t want to look at the engines before he talks to someone who actually knows what they’re doing. He’s tempted to procrastinate it entirely, but it only takes a couple seconds for his brain to kick itself and point out that Gordon can just start the download and go deal with the engines while it’s doing its thing.

Logic wins out, to his dismay, and he reluctantly heads back down through Storage to get to Comms. On the way, he passes Tommy in the hallway, holding his data tablet in one HEV glove and a soda in the other. He waves with the soda hand.

“Heya, Gordon! Everything up to regulation?”

Gordon cracks a grin. “Wires are good. I’m gonna go deal with the comms data before I bother Forzen about the engines; I don’t really know what I’m doing there.”

“He seemed tired earlier, though. Maybe you should ask Benrey instead? He’s just as proficient at it as Forzen.”

Tommy’s suggestion is perfectly genuine, and Gordon hates that it is, because he really doesn’t want to ask Benrey about it. There’s nothing _wrong_ with Benrey, and Gordon’s sure the guy is good at his job, but he gives Gordon the creeps sometimes. Forzen, for all his gruffness, is eons more approachable, and not less because he can actually hold a linear conversation.

“Yeah, maybe,” Gordon says noncommittally. “See you later for food?”

Tommy brightens. “Yes! Sounds good. See you, Mr. Freeman!” As he walks off, Gordon shakes his head a little in amusement. Tommy isn’t that much younger than him, but his childlike deference to Gordon—despite the fact that they have roughly the same level of authority—is kind of sweet.

A couple minutes later, Gordon’s tablet is hooked up to the data station in Comms, and the little green download bar is chugging along. He has no excuse anymore—he’s gotta go deal with the engine output, and that means either figuring it out himself, or asking for help from _option A: grumpy_ or _option B: inscrutable_.

He does end up trying to deal with it on his own—he heads all the way over to the lower engine and puts his PIN into the alignment panel and looks at the calibration software and promptly turns around and starts heading up toward the crew’s personal quarters.

It’s a short hallway, meant to take up as little space on the port as possible. There are six rooms along both sides of the hall; one bathroom, three two-person quarters, and two singles. Vox, as the captain, got their own room, and the rest of the crew drew lots to fairly decide who would get their own space. Tommy ended up winning, though it was in dispute for a bit, since whoever was holding the straws dropped them at one point and Tommy was the one who helped gather them. No one was willing to contest his puppy eyes for too long, though.

Gordon ended up rooming with Bubby, which was about the most inoffensive option he could’ve gotten, he thinks. Dr. Coomer would’ve definitely been up in Gordon’s business if they roomed together, he still doesn’t know Darnold or Forzen well, and Gordon just doesn’t know how to approach Benrey at all. Bubby keeps to himself, and while he’s not a big morning person, he doesn’t project it outward, just shuffles around to wake himself up.

Forzen rooms with Dr. Coomer, which is fortunate—Gordon won’t risk waking up anyone other than who he needs if he knocks on Forzen’s door. Benrey, on the other hand, is bunking with Darnold, and both of them are probably asleep right now.

Gordon has his hand raised to knock on Forzen’s door, grumpiness or not, when he hears a noise a couple doors down. Looking in that direction, he sees Benrey emerge from his room and start heading toward the bathroom, still with the suit helmet on.

 _Does he… sleep in it?_ Gordon wonders. _Or did he really bother to put it back on just to go to the bathroom?_

Before he gets very far, though, Benrey startles, noticing Gordon standing there.

“Oh. Hey,” he says. “Whatcha—uh, whatcha doin’?”

“… I was going to ask Forzen how to realign the engine outputs,” Gordon answers after a moment, for lack of anything better to say. Benrey perks up a bit.

“Hey, I could help you with that. I know what’s up. If you want.”

There’s no nice way to say _no, actually, I would rather ask the slightly-more-approachable near-stranger, but thanks,_ so Gordon just nods. “Sure, that’d be great, if you don’t mind helping me while you’re off duty.”

“’S all good, dude,” Benrey says. “Come on.”

Gordon follows Benrey through the cafeteria, past Medbay and toward the upper engine. This one has the same setup as the lower, and the same daunting calibration software that does not have anything recognizable for Gordon to latch onto. He could probably figure out how to pilot any kind of man-made air- or spacecraft if he needed to—there’s only so many flips and switches, and he’s already a trained pilot on both fronts—but _this_? This is witchery he knows not.

“’Kay, c’mere. It’s pretty simple once you get past how jank it looks, just annoying,” Benrey is saying, and Gordon tunes back in. “While you’re in this menu, you use the touchscreen to control the view of the outer part of the engine…”

It’s weird, listening to Benrey go on. Gordon knows he’s smart—of course he is; he was selected by Black Mesa to help man a spacecraft, and even their most basic of space missions require like four resume’s worth of qualifications—but listening to it actively, watching Benrey’s fingers move deftly across the screen, even through his thick gloves, is different. Gordon hasn’t had much opportunity to interact with Benrey outside of the rare meal they take together; he hasn’t seen him in any context other than awkward conversation. Benrey is… surprisingly competent.

“… and if you don’t get it exactly right, whatever. We’re just out here for the filters to grab space dust and to let Comms gather as much ambient radio data as it can. Doesn’t matter if the alignment throws off the navigation at all.” Benrey steps back from the screen. “You can finish up here and do that for the lower engine, right?”

“Yeah,” Gordon says, honestly—Benrey’s demonstration had been surprisingly clear and concise. “Sorry for taking up so much of your time. You must be tired. Fuck, I also stopped you from going to the bathroom , didn’t I?”

“’S’alright.” Benrey shrugs. There’s a beat of silence, and Gordon is about to open his mouth to thank Benrey again, when the guy just goes “Later,” and walks off.

Strange, Gordon thinks distantly, but something about Benrey is already settling in his head. He’s alright.

Finishing off the upper engine and realigning the lower goes smoothly after that—or, as smoothly as two-ish hours of work each can be. Benrey set the stage for him, but he wasn’t kidding when he mentioned how tricky it is to position all the moving parts—and there are a _lot_ more moving parts than Gordon had initially realized. He has to fiddle with it a bit, but he doesn’t have any significant trouble, and before he knows it, he’s heading back toward Comms to check on the download progress.

It’s about ninety percent of the way done, so Gordon takes advantage of the downtime to relax in the cafeteria. Bubby is there as well, tapping away at his tablet, and they sit in comfortable silence for a while. By now the long shift is likely getting to them all—its been eight hours, give or take thirty minutes, with four yet to go and shit to do dwindling. The usual shifts are six on, four off, six on, and then an eight-hour sleep cycle, staggered against the rest of the crew, so twelve straight hours is pretty draining.

“Finished with everything?” Gordon asks eventually, after he’s rested his eyes long enough that he’s starting to get bored.

“Yeah,” Bubby replies. “Had to trade off with Tommy for a couple things in Navigation, though. Fuck knows why Vox gave it to me.”

“Maybe they want us to have a more well-rounded understanding of the ship?”

“Yeah, and how’s that going for _you?_ ”

Gordon blinks. “Surprisingly well, honestly? Benrey just gave me a lecture on how the engine alignment works. He was a surprisingly good teacher.”

“Oh. Yeah, once he actually gets into it, the way he talks clears up a bit,” Bubby agrees. Gordon blinks, startled.

“Do you talk to him?”

“Sometimes. We end up eating together more often than not when it’s late. Not much else in common other than our jobs, so we take turns blabbering on about shit neither of us really care about.”

“Huh. I haven’t talked to anyone from the stern very much. Maybe I should,” Gordon muses. Bubby just grunts noncommittally in response. “Well, I’m going to go check on the Comms data.” Another grunt, and off Gordon goes.

To his relief, the download finished while he was talking to Bubby, so he can just go plug his tablet into the port in Admin and then forget about it for the forseeable future. If gravity weren’t so fucky on the ship, Gordon would probably skip his way down the halls.

Dr. Coomer is in Admin when he gets there, frowning down at the ship map. After Gordon plugs in and starts the upload, he walks up to look over Coomer’s shoulder. The map is projected there, normal and simplistic as ever, with little icons dotting it to represent people on the ship. Two, him and Coomer, are in Admin, just as expected.

“What’s up?” Gordon asks, glancing at the puzzled expression on Dr. Coomer’s face. At his words, the man shakes his head a little, as if to dismiss a thought.

“Oh, nothing. Simply thought I saw one too many crew icons on the map. Just my old age creeping up on the eyes, I think.” Dr. Coomer turns to Gordon with a genial smile. “Did you need something, Gordon?”

“No, just finishing my last task. Me and Bubby are both about done, so I was going to nudge him into picking up what he does in Weapons on a normal shift and then go find stuff to do myself in Comms. Maybe check on the shields. You?”

“Oh, I have a few more things to get done. Tommy, too. But we should all eat together later! Tommy said you and he already made plans—care for a few more invitees?”

Gordon smiles. “Sure, Dr. Coomer, that’d be nice.”

As Gordon leaves, a last glance back shows Dr. Coomer gazing down at the map again, brows furrowed.

The last few hours of the shift go slowly. They’re all well-practiced in their regular duties, so, despite the fact that Gordon’s been occupied with other things for most of the day, it barely takes an hour or so altogether to catch up on the necessary things in Comms and check on the shields. The rest of the time he spends doing busywork as slowly as he can, trying to drag out the minutes.

When 1800 hours hits, Gordon’s already beelining for portside, more than ready to take off the HEV suit for a bit, now that he’s officially off and not required to wear it. As he passes through the cafeteria, he’s not surprised to see Bubby already un-suited, drifting in the corner with his eyes closed—probably waiting for Dr. Coomer to join them.

Gordon makes short work of shucking off his gear, storing it next to Bubby’s in their shared closet, and changing out of his somewhat sweaty underclothes into casual wear. By the time he gets back to the cafeteria, more than ready to get food in him, everyone else is already there. Dr. Coomer and Tommy are chatting, hanging onto the tables to ground themselves, with Bubby curled against Dr. Coomer, not saying much other than the occasional comment.

“Hey, folks,” Gordon greets them, pushing off from the doorway and drifting over to the center table. He slides in next to Tommy, settling down as best he can on the bench. “Everybody exhausted?”

“Yes,” Bubby grounds out.

Dr. Coomer pats his arm gently. “The change in routine has taken a lot out of us all.”

“You’re telling me,” Gordon agrees, shaking his head.

Tommy volunteers to get everyone food, seeing as he’s the one with the most energy left—god knows how he does it—so Gordon is left chatting softly with the doctors. While they’re waiting, Darnold and Benrey emerge from the dorms, both in their HEV suits, and Darnold looking very much like he’s just woken up. Gordon doesn’t envy the shift they’re about to start.

“Hi guys,” Gordon greets them. “Good morning for you, I guess I should say.”

“Please,” Darnold responds, rolling his eyes. “Time doesn’t matter out here. Who’s grabbing—oh, hey Tommy! Can you get me some as well?”

As Darnold and Tommy shout back and forth for a moment, Gordon watches Benrey cross the room to rehydrate two food packets, presumably one for himself and one for Vox. He still has his helmet on, as always, and moves through his task with surprising efficiency, considering the clunkiness of the suit. As Benrey leaves the room, heading for Security, Gordon waves. Benrey, though clearly surprised, waves back.

It’s only a few minutes between when Benrey leaves the room and when Darnold’s radio crackles. Less than, even—it really doesn’t take that long to get from the cafeteria to Security.

In that time, Tommy comes back to the table with their food and passes it around, and Darnold starts telling Bubby about a fucked up dream he had, and Tommy drags Gordon and Dr. Coomer into a debate over whether Gatorade or Powerade is better, and it’s nice. It’s a rare break, where almost all of them are together, just chatting.

And then there’s feedback from Darnold’s radio—he’s the only one at the table with a suit on, and so the only one who has one available—and Benrey’s voice comes through.

“There’s—Darnold—it’s—”

His voice comes out stuttering, confused. Later, Gordon will realize he must have been in shock.

“Vox, they’re—help. Help, please.”

Darnold looks up at the rest of the table, alarmed. There’s a moment of nothing, where no one moves or speaks, unsure of what to say or do. And then they are getting up and going.

Darnold can walk faster in the suit than any of them can push off, so he grabs onto Tommy’s arm and pulls him, everyone else linking up with Tommy. They follow along behind him, unable to hurry forward, helpless to be dragged at his pace, walking down the hall past Medbay, through the engine, down toward Security, and there’s Benrey—

And he is standing in the doorway, one fist clenched around the food he’d been carrying and the other holding tight to his radio.

And inside of Security, a red liquid drifts in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya!! tell me what you think with a comment! they mean a lot to me <3
> 
> also, if you want to talk to me about hlvrai/this fic/anything, feel free to drop me a line at my sideblog [ectography.tumblr.com!](https://ectography.tumblr.com/)


	2. Day 7 (and onward)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all of what i have written for chapter two + the outline for the rest of the fic

_Day 7 Crewman’s Log_   
_Begin transcript?_

…

It’s been roughly ten hours since we found Vox dead. I haven’t slept a fucking wink.

I know I should be professional on these things, for posterity, but _god_ —this was supposed to be a simple mission! We weren’t supposed to be in any danger, least of all from our fucking _crewmates!_

…

It was clearly murder. Vox’s suit had been ripped open at the back—with a serrated blade, we think, though god knows how something like that made it onto the ship—and they were stabbed five times. One of the wounds completely severed their spinal cord.

We had Darnold take care of the… of the body, since a medic is the closest we can get to a coroner. Bubby cleaned up the blood that was drifting around in Security. For now, Vox is stored in Medbay, but eventually we’ll… we’ll have to _dispose_ of them.

We decided to reconvene at 0600 to decide how… how to move forward, I guess, since my group hadn’t gotten the chance to sleep yet. That’s in two minutes.

I’m not ready to go back out there.

…

But I have to.

Freeman, about 0600 hours.

* * *

The mood is more than somber as Gordon enters the cafeteria. He’s the last one to arrive, and he’d expect everyone to glance up at him as the clunky boots of the HEV suit announce his entry, but only Dr. Coomer’s eyes lift to meet his. The rest of them either look off into the middle distance or resolutely stare at the ground, or the table, or their hands. None of them are eating as Gordon eases himself down onto one of the only two open seats.

There’s silence for more than a few more moments, though the tension is thick. They’re all waiting for someone else to break it—to take control, assume position as the new leader. No one does.

 _God,_ Gordon doesn’t want to be the one to speak.

His lips move for him.

“We need to decide what we’re going to do,” he begins, his voice far steadier than it has any right to be, and everyone’s eyes are on him. The relief that scatters across the room is palpable, and there’s a shuffling as everyone turns to face Gordon, many of them slouching slightly, bodily deferring to him. He swallows thickly.

“Vox was murdered,” he goes on, forcing the words out. “By one of us, barring the possibility that we have a stowaway.” At that, he makes eye contact with Dr. Coomer, whose eyes skitter away. “We don’t have radio contact with Earth, and won’t for another month, when the ship gets back in range.” He lets the words hang in the air for a moment, almost ringing, before he goes on. “We have to make a choice.”

Gordon knows it doesn’t—it _can’t_ —but he swears the air smells like blood.

“Either we can go on doing our duties as normal, paired up so that none of us are ever alone, or we make a concerted effort to find out who did this.” _And figure out what to do with them,_ he leaves unsaid.

Bubby scoffs, a sound that is equally disbelieving and helpless. “As if any of us could rest easy, knowing there’s a murderer among us and not doing anything about it.”

“What would you even propose we do?” Darnold snaps. “We don’t have the resources or knowledge any forensic analysis, and about half of us won’t have provable alibis. There’s no point in a manhunt—that’ll just make everyone paranoid. The best we can do is prevent anyone else from getting hurt.”

“Besides,” Tommy says, voice subdued. “We all trust each other. How are we supposed to point fingers like that?” There’s a brief silence before Forzen breaks it.

“Speak for yourself. I’ve hardly talked to any of you working on the bow, and it was _you guys_ who were on when Vox was murked. I don’t trust any of you.”

“I’m sorry?” Bubby’s head whips toward Forzen. “ _You_ were the only person none of us saw before Benrey found Vox! If we’re distrusting anyone, it should be you!”

The table descends into acidic bickering, and Gordon watches them all go after each other, without the words to stop them. Bubby, Forzen, and Darnold do the most shouting, while Tommy sits watching them with wide, helpless eyes, Dr. Coomer tries in vain to hold Bubby back, and Benrey sits quietly, not having said a word.

The thought keeps darting back into the forefront of Gordon’s mind: Vox is dead. Vox is dead and their body is in Medbay. Vox is dead and they were murdered. Vox is dead.

Vox is dead.

“That’s _enough_ ,” Gordon barks, and the sound cuts through the argument. “Darnold and Tommy are right. We can’t point fingers at each other; that will get us nowhere.” He eyes Bubby and Forzen. “We’ll put it to a vote. Raise your hand if you’d rather go on as normal, with more caution.” Darnold, Tommy, and Benrey raise their arms. “And if you’d rather carry out an investigation?” Bubby, Forzen, Dr. Coomer, and himself raise a hand.

Tommy looks down quickly, but the brief glimpse Gordon gets of his eyes seems defeated. Darnold and Benrey both just look resigned.

It’s not that Gordon _wants_ a manhunt to happen—he just feels the same as Bubby does; he won’t be able to sleep, knowing that Vox’s murderer walks among them in red, untouched, unseen.

“Alright. We should eliminate the possibility of there being a stowaway on board first. I want two people in Security, watching the hallways so we’re sure no one is sneaking by us. The rest of us will split up into a group of two and a group of three and check the ship top-down. Sound good?”

There’s some mild grumbling from Bubby and Forzen, but the rest of them agree pretty readily. They split up with some shuffling into groups: Tommy and Darnold to head toward Security, Forzen, Bubby, and Benrey to check portside, and Gordon and Dr. Coomer to check starboard.

Tommy and Darnold leave first. Once Gordon sees the little red light on the camera in the Medbay hallway blink to life, he waves the group off to head to Navigation.

Squeezing the five of them inside in their bulky HEV suits is difficult, but not impossible, and it only takes a minute to search the room thoroughly enough that they’re sure no one is hiding out in it. After that, they split off into their respective groups, and Gordon is left alone with Dr. Coomer.

As they head down the hallway toward Shields, Gordon sneaks glances at Coomer. Maybe he should be, but he’s not suspicious of the man. Still, their conversation in Admin keeps coming back to mind.

Gordon hopes they find a stowaway. Genuinely, he does.

“Do you think you might’ve been right?” Gordon asks after a stretch of not-quite awkward silence. “That there may be someone else on board, I mean.”

Dr. Coomer purses his lips before answering. “I saw an extra icon, but only for a brief moment. I can’t be sure it wasn’t a glitch.”

“But you saw it,” Gordon says. Coomer shoots him an indecipherable look before turning his gaze forward again.

“Yes.”

They trek the halls quietly, checking every nook and cranny from Shields all the way back to Reactor, taking extra time to look inside the crates in Storage and check the shadows in Electrical. Gordon holds his breath around every bend and before every corner, but they find no one.

They arrive in Reactor about a minute before the other group does, and spend the time checking and re-checking its nooks and crannies. It’s a futile effort, but easier to indulge in than stand around silently and wait, knowing that they’re no closer to knowing who the culprit is.

When the rest of them walk in, and Tommy and Darnold join them from Security, the resigned expressions on everyone’s faces are enough to tell Gordon all he needs to know.

“So what now?” Forzen asks bluntly. “One of us is a murderer, _Captain_. Tell us what to about it.” He says the title in a way that makes Gordon want to flinch. He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing.

Gordon opens his mouth to respond, but pauses. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do—what are you supposed to do in this situation? What on earth— _off_ earth—do you do?

“We should look for the murder weapon, shouldn’t we?”

It’s Benrey who pipes up, in a small voice that still somehow cuts through the murmur that had been building.

“It was, uh, a big knife, right? Wouldn’t that be kinda hard to hide?” He trails off, evidently uncomfortable with all the eyes on him. “Not like we have a kitchen to. Hide it in. Y’know.”

okay so. i don’t want to say i’ll _never_ finish this, but it’s highly unlikely. the period where i was fixated on hlvrai was very short and among us is no longer at the height of its popularity and… yeah. so there’s all of what i wrote for chapter two! and now i’ll let y’all take a look at the plans i had for this fic:

so, at the beginning, the total number of people on the ship is 9: Gordon, Tommy, Bubby, Coomer, Forzen, Darnold, Benrey, Vox, and (the mystery stowaway that may or may not [disclaimer: definitely does] exist) G-Man.

the three impostors are Benrey, Tommy, and G-Man

the thing about the impostors, though—Benrey legitimately does work as a crewmate, and was actual friends with Vox. it’s kept under wraps, but the higher-ups at the company everyone works for (Black Mesa Space Explorations) know that Benrey is very much an alien and are cool with that, because Benrey’s cool. also the government has a deal with a few alien civilizations, and so Earth is not allowed to kidnap alien citizens as test subjects. or expel them from the planet. thus Benrey gets a work visa and can chill

Tommy, on the other hand, is not who he says he is. he murdered the person who was supposed to be doing his job and stepped into the position, with behind-the-scenes help from G-Man. Tommy did not necessarily want to kill someone and take their place on an innocuous space mission for the express purpose of going on a killing spree once out of range of Earth, but his father is… persuasive

so Tommy walks onto the ship, hidden in plain sight, and sneaks his dad onboard with him, and the ship heads out

Tommy does not kill Vox, but he was supposed to. Tommy develops genuine friendships with his crewmates and gets cold feet when G-Man tells him to take Vox out. Instead, G-Man ends up killing Vox, briefly coming out of hiding (when Coomer sees an extra icon on the map) to murk them

at this point, Tommy begins to accept his position and draw away from the others. he plays it off as fear of possible impostors, as time passes and no decisions are made, and it works really well—Tommy was already likable, and no one (not even Forzen) wants to suspect him

speaking of Forzen! people start to heavily suspect him, and when Darnold dies next (shot in the back with a gun, never saw it coming), it’s a very near thing that Forzen isn’t ejected from the airlock. Gordon has to physically stop Bubby from doing it.

it was Tommy this time. G-Man ordered him to, and he couldn’t avoid it forever.

the air in the ship is very uneasy by this point. Tommy is a nervous wreck, and it’s not entirely an act—he’s killed two people by now and indirectly caused the murder of a third, and he’s just not built for it. he never wanted to hurt people.

the reason that they’re on this ship in the first place is not a random killing spree. G-Man has a grudge, has had a grudge Tommy’s whole life, and has been dragging Tommy into plots to get back at someone for just as long. 

i hadn’t decided yet who exactly that person was. it’s between Benrey and Dr. Coomer. perhaps G-Man knew Benrey from Xen, had gotten into a bad disagreement as youngsters, and it spiraled from there. perhaps G-Man had more than a few strings to pull in Black Mesa, and Dr. Coomer had gotten in his way one too many times. you can decide for yourself which narrative is more fulfilling.

Dr. Coomer is attacked next (and if he’s the grudge, perhaps it’s to instill some terror), but rather than surviving it or turning up dead, he goes missing (dragged into the vents by G-Man). Tommy plays no part in this one, and so his anxiety over it is real.

the ship is only so big and there are only so many places to hide a body. after a while, the crew quietly begins to assume that Coomer had been ejected by the impostor, and begin to grieve him.

and then Forzen dies.

this death (wrought by Tommy) is the first one that is obviously alien, torso torn apart by an inhuman maw. on deck, there’s only Gordon, Bubby, Tommy, and Benrey left to find it, and Bubby turns on Benrey immediately. Bubby’s been with Black Mesa a long time, and though he’s trusted Benrey just as long, he knows (thinks) that Benrey is the only alien in their crew. (and here it may be best that Benrey is not the grudge, for how would things continue afterward?)

Gordon can’t stop Bubby this time. he ejects Benrey, betrayed and terrified, and then there is a dark silence.

Gordon and Bubby each go to sleep believing the horror show is over, and that they can finally rest.

then Gordon wakes up in the middle of his sleep cycle to a shadowy attacker looming over him (Tommy), and he can’t see them clearly because his glasses are off and it’s dark in the room and also he’s biting the inside of his cheek in pain as his attacker misses a stab when Gordon writhes and slices off his right arm at the elbow with the knife (fuck, they never found the knife) (fuck, that hurts)

and then a fucking vent opens up in the corner of the room and Dr. Coomer claws his way from it, and, confused, Tommy absconds, and Dr. Coomer is already leaning over Gordon, trying to help him, but Gordon sees as the door to the room opens a shaft of light fall over Tommy’s face—

they call an emergency meeting, Gordon still dripping blood, Dr. Coomer looking like hell. Bubby embraces Coomer desperately, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Tommy is nowhere to be found

“I know who the impostor is,” Gordon and Dr. Coomer both say together (and here it may be best that Dr. Coomer is the grudge, for being dragged away he knows the person who did it well)

“We should wait for Tommy,” Bubby protests. he doesn’t bother to argue that they already got rid of the impostor. he sees Gordon’s arm. he sees the ravaged look on Coomer’s face

“It’s Tommy,” Gordon says, just as Coomer says, “Perhaps we should,” and they both look at each other funny

there proceeds a quick sharing of information, and suddenly it’s three against two as all the alarms go off—oxygen, reactor, lights, comms. everything is down at once. there are three of them left and four places to go and countdown timers tick ominously behind the alarms and there are _too many things to get to without dying first and they can’t, they can’t, they can’t—_

the lights turn back on. Gordon stops panicking.

Gordon is closer to oxygen, so Gordon pushes Bubby and Coomer off together, tells them to run, tells them to get to reactor and fix it and that once everything’s okay he’ll meet them back here, and then they’re all sprinting, Bubby and Coomer to reactor and Gordon to admin to punch in the first half of the code, and he’s so close, he’s one number from hitting enter—

Tommy emerges from a vent, chest split open, alien mouth dripping saliva, and his face—his human face—looks wrecked. he’s been crying. his eyes are wild with some mixture of grief and resignation and madness. he slams Gordon against the wall, ripping his only good arm away from the panel, saying “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i have to do this, i’m sorry—" (the reactor alarm turns off, leaving only the oxygen blaring) (the comms have stopped buzzing… who…?)

before Tommy can kill him, another alien appendage tears Tommy away, and Gordon can breathe. in the doorway of admin stands Benrey, inhuman and looking as meekly nervous as ever, even as he slams Tommy into the other wall, making him crumple unceremoniously to the ground. as Gordon catches his breath, adrenaline still racing, Benrey trots over and punches in the oxygen code. the last alarm stops.

“wh.. the other side… how…?” Gordon manages

“i got it dude. don’t worry,” Benrey replies, and that’s all there is to it

they drag the unconscious Tommy back to the cafeteria, where Bubby and Coomer wait. there’s a very awkward apology exchanged between Bubby and Benrey, and then they tie up Tommy and are on the alert again, because G-Man is still around and there’s no telling exactly where. they can’t wait to get back into contact with Earth; it’s still too far.

Coomer does the only thing he can do: he takes the knife and the gun off of Tommy’s person, hands the gun to Bubby, holds the knife to Tommy’s throat, and calls out into the room:

“if you don’t want your son to die, come out.”

G-Man, for all that he is the villain of this story, is also a father. and for all that he is a bad father (a terrible father, irrevocably, unforgivably, tragically) he still loves his son. (what a terrible thing, to be genuinely loved by your abuser)

he comes out.

there is a struggle. Bubby eventually manages to shoot G-Man. Tommy wakes up in the middle of it, unsure what to do or whose side to be on (because Coomer whispers gently into his ear _i’m not going to kill you. i know you didn’t want this_ ) Benrey shoves G-Man out of the airlock and ejects him, and though aliens of Xen can usually survive in space, G-Man’s injuries will make it so he can’t

they win. Tommy is not ejected. no one forgives him, but he’s a victim too, and they don’t kill him. without G-Man there to direct him, he certainly doesn’t kill anyone else.

they go home. it is a hollow victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so. for now, that's all, folks. perhaps one day i'll come back to this. if i do, i hope to see some of you there :)
> 
> if you like what i had written for chapter two, or the ideas for the rest of the fic, leave a comment! they mean a lot


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